Beneath a Moonless Sky
by semprefede
Summary: Takes place before, during, and after LND. It starts with the night shared between Christine and Erik, and continues through Christine's pregnancy and her death. There's obviously changes to make it my own/make it interesting. I suck at descriptions. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1: That Night: Erik's POV

"Angel? Angel?" _Could it be? Is it her?_

"Christine… Christine…" Then I hear her dainty knock on the tavern room door. "Come in, sweet child." The door is near silent as it opens and shuts, but I hear her bolt the door. I turn my head in her direction, and I cannot help but let out a groan of anger. _Her beautiful face…_

"Angel, please… may I sit and talk?" I usher her to the bed and she takes a seat there. I take a seat a fair distance from her, my mind racing with all the horrible things from the past. "It would seem he isn't as fair and great and mighty as I saw before." My fists ball up. _He did this! Insolent boy!_

"Christine, what happened to you?" My voice is soft, and a shudder consumes her body. She shakes her head, and then takes a sharp breath because of the pain. "Here, my love, lie down." She does as I say, and I get up to get a wet cloth. I start dabbing at her face, cleaning off the dried blood and the blood that is still freshly running from her wounds. _There, now she looks more like My Christine._

"He… I made him angry. Angel, he frightens me." It takes all my control to not lash out. I could kill that boy. She grips my hand soothingly in an attempt to calm my anger. And for now it works. "I mentioned that I wanted to see you once more before he and I married. But he lashed out in a drunken haze." I lift my gaze to her. _Drunk? That doesn't sound like the Vicomte at all! _"Oh, yes, Raoul has been drinking heavily. Ever since the fire." Her eyes have a new look in them, one I have never seen before. "Ever since that night I could have chosen you." Her hands slide up my face, and she gently removes the masks. And she's… she's smiling. She's smiling at my distorted, deformed face. And then… oh, God, her lips are on mine. I pull her away, thinking she is just traumatized and needs to relax. "Please, Angel, I wanted you. That kiss that caused you to let me leave… I meant it to be just that, but then I felt it: a spark in my heart." I quiet her by leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on her lips.

"Erik," I say quietly. "My name is Erik." She smiles, knowing I have accepted her back into my heart. And then her lips are on mine again with such ferociousness I cannot ignore it. I let my hands tangle in her hair as I place kisses on her neck.

"Erik," she whimpers. _Dear, God, she's trying to drive me insane. _It doesn't take long until we are both bare, and she smiles at me. "Make love to me, Erik. You are my Angel of Music." And I comply, because she holds my heart and soul in her hands. We make the most of this time, and we're eventually a tangled mess in the linens.

"I love you, My Christine." She's drawing patterns on my bare chest, and I'm playing with her curls. She smiles up at me, and she moves her hand to my hideous disfigurement.

"Look, My Erik, we complete each other." I look down at her face, and it's true. The injuries the Vicomte caused have made her skin swell, peel, and crack. And, if we were to put our faces together, we would make one horrible monstrosity. I place a kiss on her forehead, and her eyes soon close. She's sleeping. And I realize I cannot stay. No matter how much I love her or how much she loves me, we are no good for each other. The Vicomte will take his anger out on her should she say my name again, and I'm wanted for multiple murders and arson. We cannot live in each other's world.

I kiss her smooth hand, tuck the blankets around her, and get dressed. I place my mask back on before exiting the room. The sun hasn't even risen, and I can already tell this will be the worst day of my life. Because now I really know what I am losing.


	2. Chapter 2: That Morning: Christine's POV

"Erik, My Erik," I murmur, my hands grasping at the empty bed. I shoot upright, ignoring the pain in my back. I look around, noticing that I am alone in the room. He is nowhere to be seen. "Angel…" It's just a soft whisper, the fleeting sound of what once was our song. I know he has chosen to leave. Leave me once more. To think, I was waking up to swear my love! This is what he does when he knows the truth? That I love him, that I choose him and that I cannot go back to Raoul for fear of my life? How dare he make a fool of me! He's played me as the naïve child once more. I'm caught up in my anger and shame when the door opens just a crack.

"Mademoiselle, there is a gentleman here to see you." I pull the sheets around my nude body, fearing what is to come next. The door swings open, and I see Raoul. His face turns into an expression of horror and shock, and he runs toward me.

"Christine, Christine," his soft whisper caresses my ears. He places his hands on my neck, gently sliding over the love bites from last night. His fingers trail up and stop at my chin. And then I remember what my face looks like. I avert my gaze from his. His gentle fingers examine the bruises of fingers and handprints, the cuts and cracks filled with dried blood, and the overall swollenness of my face. "What did that monster do to you?" My eyes are filled with anger as I look back at him, glaring. Seething. His eyes are gentle and calm, not the opaque, drunken stones I witnessed the previous night. My anger simmers, and his fingers wipe away tears I didn't even know were running from my eyes. "Monsieur," Raoul says to the man in the door. "Fetch a doctor." I see him give a curt nod and move quickly as Raoul stands me up. He realizes I am naked and is muttering apologies.

"Raoul," I say, holding his shoulders. "Please, just hold me. I want to go home." He nods and holds me tightly in his warm embrace. It's cut short by the doctor walking in, ushering Raoul to shut the door and back up from me.

"I'm Dr. Tomas Eddleton. I need you to take the sheet off your body." I hold the sheet closer to me, remembering everywhere those love bites could be. The doctor gently slides the sheet from me, and Raoul gasps. I look down to see I am bruised and scratched and, yes, there are a few love bites, too. I shudder, remembering just how good everything felt last night. If I looked like this, I can only imagine what _he _looks like. _No, you fool, don't think of him. _The doctor moves his finger to trace a few bruises. He touches a few swollen parts of my arms, and then looks up into my eyes. "Mademoiselle, I know I am not a detective, but I've seen plenty of victims like this, and I know their stories. Would you mind telling your betrothed and me what happened last night?" I look at Raoul's sullen eyes, and I open my arms, beckoning for him to come hold me. He complies, and so I start my story.

"Good doctor… Raoul… I-I-I am still a bit hazy. I was just awoken when Raoul came in…" They nod, willing me to go on with the tale. "Last night, Raoul had gone out with a few of his fellow noblemen and had a bit too much to drink. I got him safely put into his bed when he came home. I had planned on going out to my father's grave and had already taken the time to get dressed for the trip. While on my way, I asked if I could make a stop at this tavern, for it was where Raoul had been drinking. I wanted to let the bartender know that he had made it home. That's when I saw _him._" I feel the anger and hurt in my voice, and Raoul gently squeezes my hand, ushering me to continue. "He was wearing all black. His outfit was as dark as the night sky, with the exception of his porcelain mask, of course. He gave me the most shocked look, as I did to him. He ushered me into this dark room, where we told the tale of what was to be and what has been. He has been living here for almost a month. And I told him how I am to be wed in two weeks. When he heard that, he was livid. His eyes turned the color of fire, and… and…" It takes a brush of Raoul's hand on my back to continue. "He cornered me, saying I cannot go back to 'that insolent boy' and then he… he hit me. Right here." I outline the bruise of a hand on my face. "I was trembling. He told me if Raoul was to have me for an eternity, then surely, as my Angel, he should get to have my innocence first. That's when I tried to run. He balled his fists and delivered two blows to my face. I spit in his face and tried to gouge his eyes out. He let his fingernails dig into my own skin. Then he threw me on the bed, took the ropes that he would usually use for Punjabs, and secured me to the posts. I tried to wriggle free, but it was no use." I see Raoul trail his fingers to the barely visible pink scar on his own neck. "He used his mouth to make these," I point to a few love bites. "And as for the scratches and handprints on my body, I couldn't tell you the exact moments during that horrible time that they happened." I sigh, thinking my fabricated tale is done. That I will no longer have to make up horrible lies about My Erik, about my lovely Angel of Music.

"Did he take your maidenhood, mademoiselle?" Raoul tenses up at the doctor's question. I rub Raoul's arm, then shake my head.

"No, Monsieur. He was going to, but I stopped him." The doctor raises an eyebrow and Raoul lets out a sigh of relief.

"How, Mademoiselle Daae?" I try not to let my small smirk show because it may cause doubts.

"He was bare and nude," I let a small blush hit my cheeks, "and before he could take me, I started singing. That song I used to sing him in the Opera Populaire. The fire in his eyes disappeared, he got dressed, and he loosened my bonds enough for me to break free. Then he fled. I don't know where he was going. All I know is he left me here, alone. I was far too tired to move, which is why I stayed here." The doctor nods and then leaves. Raoul's body is tense beside me; his arms feel more constricting than warm.

"Thank you, my dearest Christine. I remember making these hideous marks on you. But you lied for me. You blamed _him. _Was he really even here? Or did I make all these marks and you hid here to escape me?" I shake my head.

"Raoul, I love you." _That's a lie… or at least a half-truth. _"But you made all these marks. I covered for you because I knew what that would do to your reputation and dignity. No more, Raoul. No more drinking. No more hurting me. Or I cannot be wed to you." He nods, understanding. He helps me get dressed and then he puts one of my black cloaks on me. He pulls the top up to conceal my face, and I silently thank him for being so thoughtful. He leads me out of the small tavern and helps me into the carriage. And then we're off, on our way back to our home and life. And I leave my feelings for Erik behind me, never to return to them.


	3. Chapter 3: No Rest For The Wicked

**A/N: Sorry it took me so long and that this chapter is so short! I've been putting off writing this because I was hoping my LND obsession would die down. But it hasn't. So here you go! There will definitely be another chapter (or two!) sometime this week! Much love, Haley.**

**Christine's POV**

I lay awake next to Raoul. He's passed out after a long day, and I cannot blame him because I am also exhausted. The wedding we had today was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Raoul had been so gentle before and during the ceremony that bonded us, and I was patient with him during the after ceremony in his—_our—_mansion, where we danced the night away. We had made our way back here, and he's now asleep in nothing more than his pajama trousers, while I lay wide awake, too haunted to close my eyes. I am so thankful that Raoul was too tired to try anything in our bedroom. Though it is our wedding night and I owe my body to him, I could not possibly think about giving myself to anyone. Not after Erik left me two weeks—

I bolt upright, counting the days. 14, 15, 16… 28, 29, 30, 31… No, no, no! It cannot possibly be, not now that I've given up my past with Erik. It should be my _time. _I run my hands up my stomach. _Raoul would kill me if he knew that this might happen. _No. Raoul will believe this is his child. I'll make sure of it.

"Christine, darling," Raoul whispers as he sits up. "Are you alright, my dear?" He plants a soft kiss on my shoulder, and another one on the crease of my neck.

"Raoul, I had a nightmare… it frightened me so." His arms snake around my middle, pulling me to him. I place a kiss on his neck and run my hands up and down his torso. I stop at the top of his sleep trousers and look him in the eye. He understands that I want this—_you poor fool—_and he places a kiss on my lips, gently sliding his hands across my nightgown until it is completely off my body. He does the same with my undergarments as I trail a hand down his chest. I bite my lip, hopefully in a seductive manner, and he practically rips his trousers and underwear off his body. His eyes look up and down my body, and he lets his lips ravish me. They trail across my neck, my breasts, and my stomach. He wastes no time pressing his manhood into my most private parts, and it's nowhere near as magical as _that night._ He finishes extremely fast, and, to boost his ego, I pretend I did as well. He collapses next to me, almost completely asleep, and I wait for his even breathing before I get up.

I walk to the mirror across the room, looking at my image in it. My hair is a matted mess of curls and gel from earlier today. I run my hands through it, and then caress my hips. They've widened some in the past year or so and are now a presentable curve. My hands trail back up over my hips to my stomach. It is no longer the lean, muscular stomach of a dancer. It's softened some in the months since I've stopped dancing, but it is still nice and flat, as society would have it. Placing my hands level against the skin there, it's like there are butterflies dancing under my flesh. It is an exhilarating feeling, knowing you will be a mother. "Goodnight, my little one," I whisper, "I shall see you in months to come."


	4. Chapter 4: A Father

Sorry this took so long. I've really been working on the plot for Christine's pregnancy. However, this is just a filler chapter. When we come across Erik in LND, he has really changed. It's almost like he's found his sanity. He comes to terms that he will probably never hear Christine's voice again, and he loses a lot of his potent anger. So, I decided to make this filler chapter a part 1 of why Erik has changed. Hope you enjoy, though it's rather short. Read/review? Thanks! -H.

Erik's POV

I step inside the cathedral, pulling my hood closer to my face. It's dark here, but I can't risk anyone recognizing me, not now that I've made it out of Paris and back to Rouen. It may be the town of my birth, but I was hidden from most of this town until the day I escaped. I take a seat in a far right pew, amazed at the stained glass windows. They're beautiful, and the stories they tell are beyond phenomenal. This was where I spent the night before I finally got out of Rouen. Not only was it impossible not to pass the church on my journey out of this town, but my father helped build this church. He abandoned my mother and me, not that I can blame him. My mother was an evil, abusive woman. Thinking about that woman makes my temper rise.

I close my eyes in a futile attempt to calm down, but I know I need music to silence my anger. I open my eyes and search every crevice for the musical instrument I know will be in here, somewhere. Then I see it, an organ. I cross the aisles swiftly and sit on the bench, my fingers caressing the keys. Musical instruments are my house, and I feel at home again. My fingers move of their own accord across the ivory keys, and it's soothing. My anger is quickly dissipating. It takes a moment before I realize I have started humming along to the tune, and then I freeze. It was the song I sang to My Christine. I lift my hands from the keys and stand from the bench. I start to step away from the magnificent instrument in front of me, ready to flee, when an elderly man catches my eye. He is clearly a clergyman by the way he's dressed. His thin, gray hair is slicked back and his mouth is wide in shock.

"Who are you?" I ask, my anger flaring up again. I knew it was stupid to come back here, to my birth place, to a town where I was brutally abused every day. The old man takes a step back from me before finding his voice.

"There is only one person I know who has ever been rumored to play like that." He side-steps my question, and I raise my hand to silence him. However, he continues his assumptions. "It's been said he's a natural born murderer, a man with no love in his heart… the Phantom of the Opera Garnier." The man steps closer to me now, raising an eyebrow. I can tell by his body language that he's anxious about what will happen next. He should be, as my temper gets out of hand quickly.

"And if I am this supposed Phantom?" I spit out, my anger completely overflowing now. I'm shaking from the intensity of it. "It isn't any of your business who I am or what I've done. I owe no explanation to you." I quickly walk around him, ready to storm out of the cathedral. That's when I hear what he is whispering. I whip around, my eyes practically burning holes into him. "What did you say!"

"Poor, poor Erik…" Tears have started to flow down his cheeks, and his body is shaking. "I am so sorry I couldn't ever be there. However, I want to hear all about your life, good and bad. Don't you think you could indulge me in those stories? After all, I am your father."


	5. Chapter 5: Amends for Aminta

**Part 2 of the previous filler installment. I know you all are missing Christine, but her time is coming. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy! – H.**

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><p><strong>Erik's POV<strong>

_"That's where the Daroga rescued me from. Well, by rescued, I mean took me to an even worse Hell." I start to clench my jaw, but cringe at the pain. My face is being rubbed raw by my mask and it's painful to move my face even the slightest bit. I change my sitting position, and I notice my father's hand reaching for my mask. I grab it at his wrist. "Father, stop. You don't want to see it. I'm a monster, a carcass." He shakes his head._

_ "You mother might not have been able to see your beauty, but I do. Come on, Erik, I do this for a living. I accept people for their faults and their sins, no matter how bad. And I pray that they'll be forgiven." I nod, slipping my mask off my face. It feels nice to not have it rubbing against my scarred face. Father has a smile on his face. A _smile . _I give a small smile of my own, and it feels so foreign. It's been too long since I've sincerely smiled at anything. "Now, my son, continue your story." I tell him of the horrors that Persia held, of the evil little Sultana who had a hand in making me so wicked. I want to cry, but I do not want to show that weakness to my father. "What of your time in Paris?" He asks me, looking my straight in the eyes. "Are all the stories true? You know, the salary, Joseph Buquet, the chandelier, Piangi, the fire…" I think he's going to skip her, but then I hear, "__Christine Daaé__?" At her name, I sink. I push the sorrow down and pick my chin back up._

_ "The general information is correct. I personally sent letters to over half the ballet and chorus to invite them to the Opera House. I believed and still do believe I earned those 20,000 francs a month. As for the murder of Joseph Buquet, I was saving a young ballet girl. I'd seen that swine act on his lust before. In the end, the woman drowned herself. I couldn't let that happen to poor Meg Giry. So I stopped him the only way possible." I look away at the mention of Buquet's intentions. It's those very intentions a Gypsy man had that caused me to commit my first killing. "The chandelier can't really_ _be blamed on me. The maintenance workers of the House were too frightened to go anywhere near it. They were afraid of me. So the chains became worn and rusted as did the ropes. I may or may not have cut a few of them, but that's beside the point. Piangi threatened my life first. His death was caused by self-defense." I don't mention that I threatened him in order to get his garb for _Don Juan. _The fire wasn't caused by me. I was out of the Opera House before it even caught fire." I take a deep breath, knowing I'll have to explain my thoughts about Christine._

_ "And about Miss__ Daaé? There is a good reason for her, I hope?" I avoid eye contact, knowing I have tears in mine._

_ "The only reason I have for doing the things I did regarding Christine is that I am absolutely, eternally in love with her."_

_ "Well, my boy," he says quietly, "don't be a fool. You don't meet a woman like that every day. Go take flowers to her and make amends. The best possible outcome is that she forgives you, wholeheartedly. The worst possible outcome is that she'll deny your apology and, maybe, get the guards on you. But you're not a master magician for nothing. I expect you to be gone tomorrow morning, no later than dawn. If you're not, I will arrange for a carriage to take you to the de Chagny residence myself."_

I'm drawn out of the memory by the sound of a carriage. From behind my current hiding spot of a tree, I can see it is just Raoul in the carriage. _Perfect. _I slowly walk towards doors of the residency. _House _doesn't begin to describe the grandiose building in front of me. As I get closer, I can hear her. _Christine, Christine… _She's humming a lullaby. I follow the sound of her sweet, sweet voice. When she finally comes into view through a window, I drop my flowers. Her face is bright and merry, and she's practically glowing. For once, it's neither her beautiful face nor beautiful voice that I'm being drawn to. Her rounded stomach looks so out of place on her small frame, and I can only let tears escape my eyes. My Christine has moved on, so why bother her with apologies? _She'd be better off thinking I'm dead than have to worry about me coming back for her._ It takes me a minute for my shocked brain to register what I just thought, but I know it's the only way for her to be completely worry-free. I must make her believe that I am never coming back for her.

**Christine's POV**

My eyes dart to the window as I hear a _crack_ from outside. No matter how much I want to believe it's just the autumn leaves being blown in the wind, I walk over to check anyway. I see nothing and no one. However, I know someone has been here, for there are flowers scattered on the ground. _Erik! _My eyes dart around outside, and I see a dark cape fleeing around the corner of the house. I dart to the double doors at the front of the house, swiftly opening them. The cool breeze hits me, and I shiver. I see no one, but I feel him. Running as fast as I can, I search the front of the yard. Nothing. No one.

"Madame," yells one of the maids. "Madame, you're going to catch your death out there. Really, Madame, it can't be healthy for the baby." At the mention of my baby, my hands automatically place themselves on my stomach. I turn to walk inside, but I catch a shadow in the trees. I know I can't stay out here much longer, and the maid is sure to tell Raoul about this incident.

"I love you, Erik. Goodbye," I whisper, knowing he likely won't hear me, if he's even out here. I walk dejectedly back to the house, where the maid wraps a blanket around my shoulders.

"What were you thinking, Madame?" She is clearly flustered at my odd behavior. I avoid making eye contact, pulling the warm blanket closer to my body.

"I thought I… saw something," I say, dropping the matter.

**Erik's POV:**

The crunching of the leaves gave me away. Christine was fast in putting the flowers and the appearance of no one together. She gave quite a chase for a pregnant woman. Luckily, I made it in the trees before she could see me, though her eyes did dart towards the tree branch I stood on. As I slowly climb down the back of the tree, I hear one word carried by the wind across the yard. _"Goodbye."_

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><p><em><em>**The title was awfully misleading. Sorry for that. Amends just aren't in the cards for these two.**


	6. Chapter 6: The Angel's Child

I am so sorry it's been so long. I've had a lot of personal things go on in my life and I kind of gave up on the story. I was thinking of discontinuing it, but I never got around to it. I'm glad I didn't, because now I'm ready to continue the story. Thank you all for sticking around, I definitely don't deserve it. –H

P.S. I didn't proof read this before posting it, so sorry for any mistakes!

**Christine's POV**

"Raoul, dear, I'm fine!" His grip on my hand tightens, and I stare him in the eyes. "I promise you, nothing is wrong!" He shakes his head.

"Nothing? Christine, you cannot believe me to be that foolish, can you?" He stands, and I know his temper is rising. "Just tell me, dammit! Madeleine was worried sick and she said you _ran _outside in the cold. Full speed, too. No sane, pregnant woman would just run out in the crisp air like that!" His use of the word sane feels like he has stabbed me in the back. I glare at him.

"Fine, you really want to know? I've been dreaming of seeing him, just once, for the past eight months. Nothing feels like it truly happened. You don't allow me to sing anymore, and that is the only proof I have that he existed. In my dreams, I remember his house on the lake, of the melodies that tortured his mind. And I remember that face that tormented me—"

"Christine, don't you dare mention him. He is not part of your life anymore! It is me, Christine. Do you remember me, your husband? The father of your unborn baby? The man you chose instead of the monster?" My fist connects with his jaw, and the skin at my knuckles is torn open.

"He isn't a monster. Actually, last time I checked, you were the monster, Raoul. You've been blinded by your insecurities, only worried about what society sees. If you cared—" I inhale sharply as a pain hits my stomach. I curl around my rounded belly and stumble to hold on to the edge of the chair. It only takes a moment for Raoul to return to the boy I fell in love with and rush to my side.

"Christine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, darling. Please… what's wrong?" I stumble over my words as another pain hits.

"The baby, Raoul… it's coming. Please, help me." The pain is excruciating, and I don't think my body can handle it. My mind shuts down, and everything goes to black.

**Raoul's POV**

"Somebody, please! Fetch the midwife and the doctor! Help me get her into the birthing room!" The servants rush around, the men used for our laborious tasks picking her up and carrying her to the next room over.

"Sir, are you alright?" Madeleine hands me a wet cloth. "Your nose, and your mouth…" In the heat of the moment I hadn't realized how hard she'd hit me. My nose and lip were both bloody, and the metallic taste in my mouth definitely proved it.

"Fine, Madeleine. Please, fetch me when the baby has been delivered." She nods, and I make my way down the hall to my room. I lay down in the bed, attempting to rest from the insults Christine hurled. Lost in thought, I do not feel my eyes grow heavy and shut.

"Sir! Sir! The doctor wishes to speak with you!" Madeleine shakes me from my sleep, and I feel my body rush to the birthing room before my mind can catch up with me. The doctor holds a small form in his arms. I glance hopefully to him.

"It's a girl, Monsieur le Vicomte." I hold my arms out, but the doctor pulls back some. "Before you hold her, there is something you should know… Monsieur, she was born silent." My breath catches, knowing that silent babies are normally dead at that exact moment or hours later. The doctor's eyes grow wide. "Oh, no! She is very much alive. But… she's a curious specimen, indeed. She has cooed back to me, and her voice is the sweetest sounding melody…" My stomach flips as I understand where this is going. I look over at Christine, who is mostly unconscious, and then I look at the doctor. "Please, let me hold my daughter." The doctor gives me a nod and hands the small bundle over. The child is cold as death, and my eyes grow wide at the sight of her. Her face is deformed from the bridge of her nose up to her hairline. The deformities make her look like a corpse, and her cheeks are sunken in quite a bit. Her skin is pale as snow, and, besides the top of her face, is smooth as porcelain. It's her eyes, though. Her eyes are the warmest, most pure things I have ever set my eyes on. The brown has layers, from the darkest on the outside to the lightest of ambers near the center. I smile at her. Their daughter.

As I look up, I see the doctor holding another bundle. "What—?" I look down at this other bundle, and I see a perfect baby with no deformities. "I don't understand." I look back up at the doctor.

"Twins, Monsieur. .. a baby girl and a baby boy." I look down at the contrast. While their daughter is deformed and cold with the warmest of eyes, their son is the exact opposite. He is warm, his skin has no imperfections, but his eyes are a cold blue, like the sea during a storm. Tears form in my eyes, seeing myself in the boy even though he is not mine.

"Doctor," I say, handing him the baby boy back. "I want you to let Christine see our son. Do not tell her of our daughter, though. I believe it would do more harm than good. I will be back in no more than an hour. Please do not let Christine worry over my whereabouts. If she asks for me, just tell her I have gone out." The doctor nods and I begin to wrap the small child in my arms with layers of blankets.

I walk out to where our few carriages are, and I order a servant to prepare one for us. I look down at the strangely beautiful baby girl. She gives me a gummy smile, and I feel a smile play at my lips.

"Sir, where to?"

"Madame Valerius' flat in downtown Paris." The old woman will love the Angel of Music's child like her very own.


	7. Chapter 7: A Mix Up

**I know it has been a long time. I've had a lot going on in my life, as well as some computer malfunctions. Anyone still reading, thank you. I hope you enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Raoul's POV<strong>

As I place the basket on the stoop of Madame Valerius' flat, the sprinkle of rain turns to a downpour. Though I want to sprint to the carriage, I know I cannot leave the helpless baby there to die in the cold. Against my better judgment, I knock three times on the door. Hearing rustling and movement from within the building, I flee around the corner. I listen and hear the door open—my cue to head back to the carriage. And I do just that, feeling a weight lifted from my shoulders.

**The Persian's POV**

_Knock, knock, knock. _I look up from the book I am currently enjoying, but hear nothing else. _How peculiar. _I stand and make my way to the flat door. Placing my hat on, I open the door and see no one. Before I close it, though, I see a surprise. _A basket? Why, what does it contain? _Reaching down, a small coo startles me. I pull away, and then bend down again. I pull back the blankets to see… a baby! As I observe the small being, I take note of her scars and deformities… _oh, Erik, is this why you asked me to fake your death? _I pick the basket up and bring the child in to my flat. I set the basket on the nearby table, picking the swaddled baby up in my arms. She takes hold of my finger and coos. I cannot help but stare at the small child. She looks much like her father, although some of her features are entirely her mother's: her nose, small and sloped; her cheek bones, high and defined; and her lips—full, warm, and inviting. The baby coos once more, and I'm reminded that I lack an important item: a way to feed her. I wrap the blanket tightly around the small child and make my way to the flat above mine. Maybe Madame Valerius would know what to do.

**Christine's POV**

I coddle the baby boy in my arms. I've had a name picked for him since I knew I was with child. Raoul silently enters the room and stares at the baby. He then looks at me.

"You'll be a wonderful mother to our son." I smile, though I know it is not his baby I am holding. "Shall we name him, then?" I sigh, and glance up at Raoul.

"I've already decided on Gustave." Raoul nods. He knows it is my father's name and therefore very dear to me. I raise my eyebrows as he takes a deep breath. "Gustave Philippe, after the two most important men in our lives." Philippe had died in the Opera House fire—or so that's what was believed. In all actuality, I knew _he _was probably at fault. Raoul just nods.

"That's strong, yet beautiful." He glances down at my son—our son—and he leans in to kiss the child's forehead. "He may be sleeping now, but he has your eyes." I smile at him. He was trying so hard not to lash out from the argument earlier. He leans in and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. "Rest, my beautiful wife. Rest while he sleeps." I nod and lay my head back on the pillows, Raoul taking the baby to his cradle.

"Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Raoul," I say. _And good night, my Angel of Music. I pray that, someday, you will be able to meet your son. To meet our son. I love you, Erik, and it only grows stronger every day without you. _I drift off into slumber with thoughts of Erik, our son, and the music that they write.


	8. Chapter 8: A New Family

**Because I'm motivated to finish this story.**

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><p><strong>Christine's POV<strong>

_Raoul places a cup of tea on the table in front of me. He smiles at Gustave, who is staring back at him from his place in my arms. Raoul sits so he can finish reading the paper, when he stops dead in his tracks. My brow furrows._

"_Darling, what ever is the matter?" He pushes the paper to me, pointing to the small portion designed for obituaries. I nearly spit my mouthful of tea out at the sight of the entry: _Erik; Rouen, France; Passed on because of a broken heart. _I shake my head. "There's no way it's him, dear." Raoul's eyes go wide._

"_I'm not so sure, Christine," Raoul says. Before any more can be said, I stand with Gustave. I briskly walk towards the stairwell. "Christine!" Raoul says, "Where are you going?" I glare at my husband. _

"_I am going to go feed your son."_

Raoul shakes my arm gently, and I raise my eyebrows. He sighs.

"You're not listening, Christine!" With an exasperated sigh, Raoul nearly runs out the front door. Said door slams loudly behind him, and I grind my teeth. _At least Erik would have yelled at me until I responded. No matter how angry either of us was. _I sigh, pushing the thought of him out of mind. Walking in to the grand sitting area where I left Gustave, I almost yell at my son. He's climbed upon the piano seat, where he now stares at the ivory keys. My jaw nearly drops as a floating melody escapes the keys. It is nowhere near as complex as Erik's melodies, but there is no doubt Gustave is his son. No other one year old would even be able to complete such a task. A smile plays at the edges of my lips. _Erik lives on._

**The Persian's POV**

I sit with the one year old baby at the piano. She giggles, smiling at me, and I smile back. Madame Valerius hands me a cup of tea, smiling at the two of us.

"Thank you, Madame," I say, tipping my hat. She shakes her head, and the baby mimics her. The old woman looks down to me. Her old eyes are clouded, yet she sees with such clarity.

"You have thanked me enough, Nadir. I will do anything within my power to help raise Safa. Such a shame this much talent and beauty was abandoned." I smile, tipping my hat once more. I sip the tea, and nod to the girl—Safa. I had no issues naming her, once I realized she is Erik's child. The little girl smiles and presses the keys to make a beautiful song. It's definitely the song Erik used to sing to Christine, and Safa plays it with no mistakes. I close my eyes and listen, until the music fades. Safa's little hands are on my worn cheeks, and she's giving me a huge grin.

"Dada, you play." The keys are pressed once more, and I copy her movements. She laughs, throwing herself in to my arms. Her warm amber eyes shine through the mask of death that marks her face. I can't help but think she is my second chance—the second chance at a family I lost so long ago.


	9. Chapter 9: A Kind Soul

**I know that I sporadically update this fanfic, but I'm hoping to make it a little more consistent. Especially since I have to do a novel and film analysis for my English class, and I've chosen to do _Phantom _(as the novel) and LND as the film. So hopefully by diving back in to the story for school I'll imagine some more for the story. I know where I want this to end up, I'm just struggling to fill it with excitement until then. But I promise that I will, eventually, finish this. I _swear _I will. I love you all for sticking with this. Thank you so so much.**

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><p><strong>The Persian's POV<strong>

Safa nearly jumps from my arms as we enter the flat. Her dark curls are pulled back by a ribbon, and her eyes shine warmly with love. She giggles as she lands lithely on her feet, and I try hard to suppress my smirk.

"Now, Safa, what did I say about being careful? You may land on your feet but you are still very you and very small." _Small _is a loose fitting term. She's very thin as Erik was and she is growing just as long and tall as him. I bend down and gently untie the ribbon from her hair, and she smiles again.

"Sorry, Papa." Her small voice is so beautiful it is nearly mesmerizing. She's almost three years old, yet she's smarter than most children twice her age. She hugs me and I kiss the top of her hair.

"It is alright sweetheart. Now, let's clean up before we go to Mama's house for lunch." Her eyes light up even though we go to Madame Valerius' flat every day for lunch. The old woman helped raise the child the past few years and she continues to make sure she is healthy. Safa runs off to the washroom as I place my coat on the back of my sitting chair. I sigh as I hear a knock on the door. Within a few strides, I reach the door and open it to see it is the messenger boy.

"Good day, Daroga." I give a small smile to the child. He's only ten and works to bring money in to his struggling family.

"Good afternoon, Blaise." I open the door wider, and he follows me in as he does every Sunday. I hand him the basket of fresh bread along with twenty francs. His eyes light up. "I wish your family the best. How is your mother doing?" The boy frowns, his eyes filling with fresh tears and I wince. She must have passed away from her sickness. I bend to his height and he looks in my eyes.

"Who will take care of us now, dear Daroga?" The tears start to fall and his lip quivers. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"You will, Blaise. Continue your messenger route to your other customers. On Sundays, bring your sisters with you; you will eat lunch with my family and me." He gives a small smile, portraying how grateful he is that I remember his family. His father is a drunk who abandoned his family when he was very young, leaving his older brother to be the support system for his family when his mother got sick. Blaise also has three younger sisters who must be devastated by the loss of their mother. "Now, you best be going. I wouldn't want Dax to worry about you." I hand him another twenty francs, and he hands me the paper and the letter to be delivered to me. He finds his way out the door, and I glance at the letter addressed to me. I can tell by the handwriting that it is from Erik, and I know that I must read it. _Later. First, I shall enjoy lunch with my daughter._

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><p><strong>AN: Okay, so I know this is really short like most of the other chapters in this fic. The next installment will be longer. I just wanted to show some of the routine of the Daroga and his kindness so that we can try to understand why he acts the way he does.**


	10. Chapter 10: We Meet Again

**It's a hard time right now with my anxiety/depression. So sorry it took this long.**

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><p><strong>The Persian's POV<strong>

Lunch goes well, and it's decided that we shall go on a walk through the city. Madame Valerius shuns my hesitant nature, telling me how foolish I am to be afraid to take Safa out.

"Nadir, she is your daughter. Would anyone dare question it?" The loving bond between us is rather clear… "And people rarely speak to or of you, anyway. Is there really anything to be worried about?" Her logic is irrefutable, and I nod in agreement. Safa squeals in delight, clearly excited for the rarity of a walk. I smile down at the child. I kick myself at the thought of covering her deformity—she knows no difference because I've treated her no differently than anyone else. At least, no harsher, for I treat her with more love and respect than anyone else in this world.

"Alright, Safa, are you ready to see the city?" She nods, the excitement clear in the way she bounces. Her curls bounce lightly, and the smile on her face brightens the room. Her warm eyes meet mine, and I remember why I love her so dearly. "Then a walk we shall take."

**Christine's POV**

Gustave sits amongst his toys, clearly not impressed with any of them. He looks rather morose and I frown. Raoul has been gone; frustrated once more at me—at how I so easily lose myself to thoughts of the past. He hasn't spent much time with me, let alone Gustave. No wonder the poor child is so upset all the time. I drop to the ground next to the boy and smile. His blue eyes hold so much sadness, and it makes my eyes well up with tears. I have failed him as a mother.

"Gustave, my beautiful son," I coo, and his lips twitch in a half-smirk. His skin is smooth and flawless as he gives me a blank stare. His eyes, so cold, stop me dead in my tracks.

"Mama," he whispers, a small hand placed on the side of my face. A tear escapes and runs down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away and stand. I reach my hand down to him.

"Come, Gustave. I want to show you something." We walk, slipping on our shoes before leaving the house. I nod to the servants, and they don't stop and question what I am doing. Even they know to let me have my freedom. Gustave smiles at the excitement of leaving home.

"Mama, where are we going?" His speech patterns still surprise me, but I just shake my head and smile.

"A place more beautiful than you can imagine. A place of music. A place of hope." With the utterance of these statements, we begin our journey to the place I once felt happiness—The Opera House.

**The Persian's POV**

"Safa, child, come back here." She's running ahead of us by a bit, but she stops at my call. She looks back with a frown on her face.

"But Papa, you promised!" And she's right; I promised we could stop by the Opera House. It had been quite a few years since I myself had sat in a box there, but thanks to Erik I knew my way around rather well. No one questioned me there, either. Safa huffs and stalks back to where Madame Valerius and I are. The old woman is hooked on my arm, where I am guiding her path. Safa reluctantly grabs my outstretched hand, and I chuckle. _So much like Erik. _We continue our walk until we stand in front of the glorious Opera House. Safa's jaw drops, and then she puts a finger to her lips to signal us to stand still and quiet. I raise an eyebrow, but I don't make a noise. A grin spreads across her beautiful lips.

"What is it, my child?" Madame Valerius may be without most of her vision, but she knows very well the gesture Safa made.

"Listen!" Safa squeals in excitement. She starts clambering to the front doors of the Opera House, and I try to move quickly after her. She turns around to me. "Music, Papa, music!" My shoulders drop. _They must be practicing. _I think of how dangerous it is to bring Safa in to the Opera House, but her warm and wanting eyes draw me in. I sigh.

"They're practicing, Safa. We must be quiet. Very quiet." She nods and waits for Madame V and me to join her. Without another word, I grab her small hand and the three of us make our way into the most dangerously beautiful place in all of France.

**Christine's POV**

Gustave and I exit the carriage, and I nod my thanks to the man who took us here. The old man—Tomas, the least loyal of Raoul's servants—nods back, and he pulls the carriage to the back area of the Opera House. I pick Gustave up and nearly groan at the weight. Dancing had kept me in such well shape, but Raoul forbids me to do it. I shake my head and climb toward the doors. Gustave excitedly pats my shoulder as he stares at all of the sculpted art around the building. I manage to navigate around most of the cleaning staff, and I make my way to the managers' office. I set Gustave down and kiss his forehead before knocking three times on the door. Some shuffling and mumbling, but Monsieur Andre opens the door. His withering face and tired eyes tell me he's been perturbed about something recently. As he recognizes me, his eyes gain light.

"Miss Daae!" I shudder at the sound of the foreign name. "Pardon me, Comtess, for the slip up. Please, come in." The offer strikes me to the bone and I shake my head.

"No, Monsieur, thank you. I was just wondering if I may sit in on the rehearsal today." Gustave grabs my leg, a sign of weariness and fear. I pat his head and direct my attention to him. "Shh, Gustave, it's alright. It's safe here." His grip lessens some, but not much. Andre seems to finally notice the three year old, clearly not expecting to see him. His eyes widen. He looks back at me, and I cut him off. "My son, Gustave, and I would really appreciate it." Andre just nods.

"If anyone gives you a hard time, redirect them to me." I nod, and lead Gustave to the stage. To the place where this all began.


	11. Chapter 11: Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**The Persian's POV**

We have snuck our way in to Box 5, one of the best views in the Opera House. Erik knew this, and that's why he kept it for himself. Safa is watching in awe at the dancers leaping and twirling across stage.

"Papa, they're beautiful…" She whispers, staring intently at the male dancer sweeping the lead chorus girl across the stage in a mixture of lifts and turns. A melodic sigh escapes her mouth. "I want to be like them someday, Papa." A bittersweet smile graces my face, for Safa will never be able to perform on a stage. Even if she were to find a manager that would let her, it could never be in France. Not after the scene Erik caused. Her tiny fingers pulling on my cuffs get my attention, and she just points to the middle of the stage where a new performer has appeared. She's thin and pale, more sickly looking than beautiful, but it's her eyes that catch me off guard.

"Christine," I whisper, recognizing the lovely soprano even though she has changed. If her appearance wasn't shocking enough, the small figure definitely rocked me from my seat. Standing behind her was a boy no older than three years old. A boy that, to any one else, would appear to be the son of the Victome. But the shape of his eyes and his thin, lithe body give him away to be something else entirely. _Erik, what have you done…_

**Christine's POV**

The Maestro convinced me to sing, just a few lines of an aria, and Gustave's arms latched to my legs make me feel all the more comfortable. I close my eyes and start the aria from so long ago. _Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye… _My voice continues, unwavering, but my thoughts drift…

_The candelabras surround the small bed, keeping the chill off as I come out of a deep sleep. I stand and walk around the house, studying the architecture, the art, and the details etched into the wood. The lake is making small sloshing noises, hypnotizing me. But the more hypnotizing noise is coming from the notes of an organ. A strange melody, but beautiful nonetheless. And the man sitting at the bench is most curious, as he is lost in the swells of every note. And he is beautiful. But I just want to see what is being hidden under that mask…_

I am pulled to reality by the clapping of the stagehands and chorus girls. Mostly, though, I am pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of being watched. Curious enough, Box 5 is empty, and the feeling passes. I curtsy and hold Gustave's hand as we descend the ramps of the stage to return to our seats. My blood runs cold, for a single red rose is sitting on my chair.

_"Damn you, Christine! Curse you! Why could you not just accept the man behind Your Angel? Instead you have ruined everything Erik has worked for! Everything Erik has tried to do for you!" A candelabrum is knocked over in his rage, hitting a vase on a nearby table and causing it to shatter. The dozen red roses fall, washed partially away from the landing zone by the water in the vase. The tears flow down my cheeks and sting the small wounds made by the shattered glass. My hands are torn up and bloody, and Erik turns to see the mess he has made. The hands that were covering his face and, not two minutes ago, destroying his music room reach down immediately to pick me up. He sits me on the organ bench, sobbing as he tenderly takes out each piece of glass in my skin. He looks to me, begs for my forgiveness, and I cannot deny him, for no one has ever cared for me like this…_

"Mama?" Gustave breaks my memory, and I realize I am crying.

"It is nothing, Gustave, just sit please." He does, and I hand him the rose to pick at and play with. He doesn't immediately play with it, instead looking up at me.

"I just wanted to ask who the man who gave this to you is," his voice is but a whisper, and new tears have formed in my eyes. I do not bother asking Gustave what the man looked like or where he saw him, because I do not want my hopes shattered.

I hope so dearly that Erik is alive.


End file.
